An Overture
by xFickleFriend
Summary: Rivamika anthology. Quiet beginnings.
1. Musings

An Overture

Musings

* * *

After the Survey Corps are exonerated, Levi and Mikasa talk. Mild spoilers because it takes place after Chapter 61.

Rating: K

* * *

She should have been at least somewhat relieved by the liberating news of their exoneration and full pardon, yet there was an eternally tense, strained mass curling up against her choked heart. For more than three years, she was constantly accompanied by an unshakable general malaise and restlessness.

"The musings of a true philosopher."

Mikasa jolted at the low voice that punctuated the nighttime ambiance of a chilly wind interrupted by regular blinking chirps and the occasional deep throaty gulp of other moonlit creatures. His words were spoken tonelessly, but the twitch of his upper lip belied his intentions. He seemed to be in a much better mood now. She wished she could say the same.

The Captain slipped into the open space on the grass next to her, settling his arms upon his legs and resting his chin on folded hands. Her eyes moved to his bent leg, trying not to dwell on the injury she'd caused and averting her gaze as soon as his eyes swept towards her.

From a distance, one might mistake his position as relaxed, but her trained eye could recognize the tension clenched in each muscle in his body. She was somewhat surprised from his approach. Despite the marked improvement in their relationship of late, they were far from friendly, or at least not at a point where one of them could walk up to the other and start up a conversation without inhibitions.

"I thought you'd still be talking to Hanji."

Her eyebrows twitched in mild irritation from the uncharacteristic uncertainty in her tone and unintentional lilt that affected her voice toward the end.

"About what, our shared love of Titans and common suicidal tendencies?" He snorted.

Annoyed by the effect of his contentiousness on her already worsening mood, she turned her head away.

"Why aren't you enjoying yourself with the rest of the squad?"

"How can you expect me to celebrate when—" she trailed off, biting her lower lip.

"When what? You were worrying about Eren again?" He chided.

Mikasa especially disliked when the Captain spoke to her in that haughty tone, belittling her troubles and contorting them into something foolish and puerile.

She scoffed.

"Actually, I was trying not to think about Eren."

He shot her a knowing look, easily seeing past her weak disguise, but merely shrugged.

"Well that's too bad. I think I just reminded you. Although, now I'm quite concerned, as I'd depended on you helping Armin take care of those other brats."

"Jean, Sasha, and Connie?"

"Horseface, potato girl, and buzzcut. Who else is there?"

Though ostensibly innocuous, the implications of his words stung her. She was uncertain whether it had been deliberate or not. He had a way of dissecting anyone with the lash of a few words, and it seemed like a mechanical reflex, which certainly was no help to him in the charm department.

"When did you learn their nicknames?"

"It came to me on the spot."

"Did you think it was that obvious?"

She felt the corners of her lips tug upward, refreshed by the unusual lightness of their exchange, a significant departure from the morose atmosphere of their previous interactions.

"You didn't?" he gibed flatly, although a teasing smile had appeared, "I thought they were all rather obvious."

She expelled a breath of air that barely passed for a laugh, but quickly halted.

Catching onto the near laugh, Levi teased her, "So you really don't think Jean has a horseface?"

She turned the side of her head so he wouldn't see the small smile on her face.

"Ah, right. Eren was the one who gave him that nickname, wasn't he?"

In a moment, the color drained from her face.

"Does Eren know about your feelings for him?" He asked flippantly.

She choked on the air she breathed.

Disconcerted, she spluttered, "It's not like that."

"Is it?"

Not entirely trusting her voice yet, she opted not to remark.

"Why are you so talkative today anyway," she whispered half to herself.

"Tch, don't be stupid. You brats would know if you talked to me more often that I've always had a lot to say."

Her eyes sought his from beneath reticent lashes in simple surprise and curiosity, never anticipating that he would respond. Her eyes darted away when they met his sharp gray ones.

"Then maybe I don't talk to you enough."

Levi muttered quietly, "You don't talk enough to let your feelings known to anyone."

Despite his obvious attempt at redirecting the conversation back the earlier topic, his voice was a clear transition from hard to soft, from a cold statement to a gentle persuasion.

"Maybe you just have to look a little closer."

* * *

Just a quick one-shot as I descend into SNK withdrawal while waiting for the next chapter to be released. It's kind of a ramble. No particular theme. Worse, it didn't really help to distract me from my overwhelming RivaMika and SNK obsession for very long.

(There might be a few grammar mistakes. Sorry)

Please leave reviews. I'm also looking to write a few more one-shots since full length stories are too time consuming, so if you have a request or suggestion, feel free to let me know. Thanks


	2. Reciprocation

An Overture

Reciprocation

* * *

Hope leads to something more.

Rating: T (for hints at death)

* * *

Images of ashen faces and withered limbs filled his thoughts. Ripped clothes and flowing blood colored his vision red as vague shapes doubled and narrowed alternately, echoed in faint penumbra upon his muddled mind. The dull throbbing afflicting his head quickly progressed into splintering pain and he rested his hand upon streetlight in a desperate attempt at stabilizing himself from the incapacitating vertigo.

Slowly, carefully, Levi lowered himself upon a nearby stoop. Rain pelted from the sky, attacking the concrete in measured paces, broken only by his huddled form, faintly outlined by the dim glow of the electric bulb.

He bent down, tucking his head toward his chest, clutching it with shaking hands. How long has it been since he returned? By some twist of fate he, the squad leader, was the only known surviving member of his squad.

The memory of them, all thrown from the shattered remnants of a vehicle, elicited the return of a phantom-like hounding pain in his right leg, throbbing in concord with the rain's continuous metronome.

He could do nothing but sit there, waiting hopelessly for the debilitating pain to subside. Cars sprayed waves of water and foam over the curb, yet he couldn't move to dodge them. People huddled near buildings and overhangings that sheltered them, casting him occasional offending stares. The traffic soon thinned along with the darkening of business lights, signaling the onset of the dead hours and enveloping the city in utter blackness. He'd never known before that a city could be so empty.

Suddenly, breaking the uniform sheets of rain was another form above him. Gentle, slender fingers wrapped around his hand and pressed a rod into his grasp. Then, as soon as they had touched him, they released their hold. The sudden weight left in his hand nearly caused him to drop the umbrella to his side, but he quickly righted it and shot up.

Lifting the umbrella over his head and leaning heavily against the lamppost to ease the wave of nausea that settled upon him, he searched for the mysterious benefactor. In the time he took to balance himself on his one good leg, the tall form was rapidly moving away from him and already at the edge of the halo surrounding the streetlight when he spotted it.

"Wait," he called, his voice still hoarse.

Surprisingly, the figure stilled and turned to face him.

"Why did you do that?"

Taking a few steps toward him, the light revealed a young woman with dark eyes.

"You're a soldier aren't you?"

He blinked.

"So was my brother, but I don't know where he is anymore. Listen, I'm not a good person performing an altruistic deed. I'm doing it because if he's somewhere suffering, I hope someone will do this for him too."

Her voice was temperate and impassive whereas a choked thanks was all he could utter.

"Don't thank me, I don't need it. It makes me feel guilty….I'm probably stupid for hoping the world is still fair like that when he's missing," she castigated herself harshly.

A faint curiosity in the peculiarity of this young girl emerged from the previous haze.

"What's his name?" He started slowly.

She frowned, as if debating with herself whether she could trust him. Her eyes flitted left and right, settling anywhere except his face. She'd become so jumpy, threatening to steal away at any moment.

"Eren, Eren Jeager?" She offered with a voice suddenly so small.

He exhaled in surprise.

"I knew him. He was a brat who constantly looked for trouble."

He cursed his lack of censor and expected a quick departure. Instead, she laughed sadly.

"Yeah, I guess he was."

He frowned, as reckless as he was, the young, newly graduated cadet did not deserve the explosion that cast his fate into mystery. The boy had disappeared in the same explosion that killed his squad members.

"He was riding in a vehicle when—"

"Wait," she whispered shakily, "I—do I want to know?"

Taking a deep breath, he couched, "If there's anyone that can survive that bomb, it'd be him."

Her eyes spoke a sea of gratitude and relief, with a hint of disillusioned understanding.

It was a while before he realized he had just recited the same mantra he'd told himself for so long. He didn't know if it was fair to tell her those thoughts, but he believed it, or at least he wished for it.

For a moment, concern of whether she would question him on how he'd known washed over him, but luckily, she only nodded quietly. By now, rain had soaked into her linen coat and he lifted the umbrella over both of them.

She smiled softly, murmuring gentle thanks.

They both knew she meant so much more.

"I don't need it."

She looked him in the eyes for the first time, a puzzled expression drawn on her face.

"Then what do you need?" She asked in a tone vaguely playful, surprising him once more.

"New shoes…" he enumerated, casting a glance at the soaked leather.

She smiled wider.

"….an umbrella, and possibly a cup of coffee."

She answered him by offering her hand out to him once more.

"Mikasa Ackerman," she introduced shyly.

He removed his hand from the lamppost and took her proffered promise of companionship.

"Levi…Ackerman."

* * *

Please review! I'll never stop asking O_O

Taking suggestions.


	3. Pendulum

An Overture

Pendulum

* * *

A previous chance visit to a flower shop has Levi returning often for bouquets, and eventually, a person to give them to.

Rating: K

* * *

The clamor of milling people softened with the soft clack of the lock snapped on windows. The shutters were kept open to the streets, inviting to strangers. She replaced the springy lemongrass on the windowsill, taking a moment to survey the brisk pace of the morning commuter and other engaged passerby while leisurely searching for one particular face. She stepped out from the snug booth and took the two pots of daisies to an old wooden shelf leaning against the wall to the small greenhouse. She took the soil into her hands and let the cool mixture slip through her fingers. To accommodate the water collected, she adjusted the soil in the pot.

Mikasa brushed a stray hair that fell to her face and checked the time on the antique grandfather by the end booth. Letting her steps match the swings of the golden pendulum, she collected the blooms she needed. It seemed like the rain had kept many people at home today, though her shop was usually rather quiet.

The mechanical whirring of the coffee machine reminded her of the batch she'd made earlier and the teapot sneezed soon after. She set down the flowers on the counter to clean her hands in the sink and wiped them off with a clean cloth before pouring herself a cup of coffee. The hot water was for someone else.

The regular brass wind chime danced in the doorway and she smiled before even turning to address the patron. A gust of humid spring air drifted through the open door, conveying subdued scents of wet asphalt and warm rain.

"It's raining something shitty outside," a man wearing a deep scowl grumbled, picking the damp leaves off his otherwise pristine suit.

She acknowledged him with a smile.

"Where do I throw this away?" He asked gruffly.

Mikasa stifled a laugh at the way he was holding the leaves, outstretched and barely pressed, just between his forefinger and thumb.

"The compost bin in the corner," she signaled with a nod.

He disposed of the offending objects rapidly and wiped his hands off with a white pocket square before dropping it into the trash can.

He frowned deeply at the wet marks and trails of rainwater on the dark fabric and exhaled deeply before sitting down to his reserved seat. Even though there was no other customer, he always took the same spot by the entrance. She brought the kettle over with a cloth underneath and poured him a cup of hot water, empting a small packet of store-bought tea afterwards and handing him a spoon.

"Now that I'm a regular, you don't even put half the effort you used to into making my order," he complained.

She trimmed off a few sprigs of the lemongrass and poured the hot water over it, letting the excess run into the dish under the plant box, and then dropped it into his cup with a teasing smile.

He shot her a withering look but couldn't restrain a smirk.

She got up to bring the flowers and some clear wrap and ribbon to the table and continued her arrangement.

"Do you have an umbrella?"

She shook her head.

"Tsk, I guess I'll have to stay here until the shitty rain lets up."

She didn't say anything. She never had to around him.

"Look at those people outside. I can point out every aspiring intern and scheming brat there is out there," he commented cynically, clearly entertained.

"I'm sure you would choose every person out there," she mocked lightheartedly, keeping her eyes trained on the ones moving rapidly.

He snorted and took a sip of his tea. Out of habit, she passed him a napkin with her elbow while keeping her "filthy" hands away.

"Anyway, I've always wondered something."

"Hm?" She looked up from the stalks of spray roses.

"How are you not out of business when I'm your only customer?"

Over the past year, she'd grown accustomed to Levi's forthright ways and regular visits. It was safe to say that she spent a good portion of her day either in his company or expecting it. Where she was once disconcerted by his bluntness, she now was no longer startled.

"I've often wondered something too. How are _you_ not out of business when you're always here?"

He took another sip, an amused smirk floating over his lips. She leaned over to correct his hold on the cup halfheartedly.

"Do you have the paper?"

Mikasa reached over the back of the bench and pulled out the newspaper from the bag hanging over the corner to hand to him.

They sat in amiable silence for some time, comforted by each other's presence and the gentle murmurs of the drizzling rain from outside. While Levi pretended to read the headlines, Mikasa pretended to scan the back, each stealing looks at the other's face as discreetly as they could, and each so preoccupied in secrecy, they overlooked the obvious.

"Anything interesting?" She asked as usual.

"No, nothing," he responded as usual.

In the past year, there had been conspiracies, crime rings, robberies, and bombings, corruption schemes, bankruptcies, government failings, and murders, but each time, the large print had been glossed over for an absorption far more striking.

"What about you?"

"Nothing on this side either."

Levi took the last sip of his tea and set the paper down.

"Looks like it has stopped raining. Well, I have a multi-million dollar company to run, so I've got to go now."

She held up her hand, requesting him to pause, as she finished tying the green ribbon around the delicate yellow roses intricately set amongst baby's breath.

"Here."

She passed the bouquet into his hands.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he announced before he exited to the same dancing chimes.

After he left, Mikasa began to read the newspaper.

* * *

"Why haven't you fixed that clock yet," he asked absently, studying the paper.

She shrugged, "I've been meaning to, but I haven't gotten around to it."

This time, she placed some sage and jasmine in his tea. He hadn't liked the lemongrass last time, she could tell. It had been over a week since the last time he visited, an unusually long absence for him. Levi usually tried to spend time at the herbal tea flower shop hybrid at least three mornings a week and he rarely strayed from his routine. She stole a quick glance at the face behind the newspaper before returning to her bouquet.

"Doesn't the sound bother you?"

The pendulum swung in stumbling gaits: a tick here, a tock there…a tock there.

"Not so much as the silence does," she remarked, "I can't fix it by myself anyway. I'll call someone in tomorrow."

She'd do that for him, so he wouldn't be bothered as much.

He suddenly was standing, his suit jacket set onto her lap, uncuffing the sleeves of his dress shirt and rolling them up.

"What are you doing?"

"What do you think?"

Though his words would appear harsh to an onlooker, his tone was calm and congenial in his preferred arrogant manner.

"Here, help me set this down."

She placed the jacket on the cushioned bench and took the other side of the aging clock, gently resting it on its front. Mikasa pulled out a screwdriver from the drawer that held all her painting tools and placed it into his hand as he held it out to her. Levi promptly popped the back open and scrutinized the metal springs and gears that ran all along the inside of the ostensibly simple machinery. At the same time, she scrutinized the lack of metal around his left ring finger. So long and never a band or ring, but she'd always had her suspicions.

She sat down on her knees beside him, leaning over toward him to examine the apparatus.

"It's filthy in here," he observed with disdain, "it should be cleaned and greased regularly."

Mikasa handed him a rag for the dust and moved to the back room behind the counter to deliver the grease. They worked to clean and piece it together until the pendulum moved with precision and he was able to declare with confidence that he needed to head to work now.

"Wait," she called, finishing up the bouquet and tying it off with a vivid green ribbon, "here."

The brass chimes jingled, marking his absence and she waited for the next time to come.

* * *

"Hello?"

"I'm in the greenhouse."

He made his way toward her voice with footfalls mirroring the skipping pace of the pendulum after picking up the newspaper.

"Flowers?" he questioned, vaguely curious as he approached.

He noticed that his tea was already set out for him and so he took a seat next to her, appraising her brushstrokes in admiration.

"Violets," she affirmed tersely.

The canvas was painted various shades of deep green and hints of yellow in the background, with indigo and dark purple dotting the upper portion, flowering in the foreground. Upon closer inspection, Levi noted that the petals were just beginning to wilt. He studied the pot of violets behind the piece and discovered that the flowers were starting to die as well. He realized that though he'd seen the greenhouse before, it was the first time he'd ever been inside, a stranger to all but the vigorous blooms he received from her.

"Sobering," he commented offhandedly in familiar fashion.

"Your flowers are on the table."

Her voice was cold and he could not understand why. Feeling dismissed, he retrieved the flowers in measured movements, hesitantly taking steps toward the door. His normally unflappable expression transformed into one of deep concern and just before he removed himself from the heated room, he turned back to observe her face. Her brows were wrinkled in concentration, but she was biting her lip, and her eyes darted to the side far too often to be truly engrossed in her present task.

"Is there something wrong?" he pressed gently.

An extended, pregnant pause filled the room, but the relief never came. The flowers dropped to his side in his limp hand and his steps fell ponderously as he retreated.

When the chimes rang, Mikasa allowed herself to drop her façade, but it was barely a moment of reprieve before the door slammed open and Levi rushed in, his emotion far from indifferent.

"Mikasa, come with me," he grasped her wrist firmly to lead her out past the main room.

The atmosphere of the calming greenhouse and cozy parlor had become stifling. She pulled her arm from his and stared him in the eyes, challenging his will. His grasp had weakened and slid, but he still held onto her hand determinedly.

"Then…do you have something to say to me?"

"I've wanted to ask you this for a long time. What do intend for to happen?"

He furrowed his brow in confusion.

"What are you saying?"

"What are the fl—no, _who_ are the flowers for?" she implored.

Levi dropped her hand. In his preoccupation with avoiding revealing his obvious infatuation, he had become obviously uninvested in her eyes. His lip shook as he searched rapidly for an appropriate answer. In all of the many thoughts concerning her, he'd never imagined confessing in this manner. Her dark eyes demanded a response in fierceness, trepidation, and soon uncertainty. He seized her shoulders and spoke before her consuming emotions could escalate further.

"They—the flowers, they're for you," he admitted.

She shook her head in bewilderment.

"I needed a reason to see you as often as I did."

He laughed scornfully at himself.

"You—you needed a reason to see me?" she repeated slowly, tasting his words, testing his thoughts.

He took a deep breath.

"Not anymore. I need no other reason."

She stumbled on her words, "Then the flowers, they…"

"They go to that neighborhood vigil for that bra—kid that was killed in that car accident…I figured he could always use more flowers."

She tested a breathy laugh. Her hand slowly rose to cover her mouth as a blush spread over her cheeks. Mikasa looked down to hide her embarrassment. Cautiously, she raised her head again and bit her lip in uncharacteristic shyness.

Regaining her composure and confidence, she intimated coyly, "I prefer violets."

"I think I do too," he acknowledged.

He held out his hand inquisitively. This time, she willingly accepted, allowing him to lead her out, steps echoing each other and the dancing tick-tocks of the swinging pendulum, the sound of chimes not far behind.

* * *

I actually found out later that violets in dreams were supposed to mean that your future spouse will be your junior. I wrote this without knowing that particular meaning for violets, but if you wanted to, you could pretend that I knew. I'm not sure if that makes a difference.

Otherwise, violets represent delicate love. Or at least the delicate and quiet beginnings that lead to something greater.

light is in the dark: Levi's a tea person (:


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